Shoulder The Sky, My Lad, And Drink

When The Journey's Over/there'll Be Time Enough To Sleep.

Because I Liked You Better Than Suits A Man To Say, It Irked You, And I Promised I'd Throw The Thought Away. To Put The World Between Us We Parted Stiff And Dry: 'farewell,' Said You, 'forget Me.' 'fare Well, I Will,' Said I. If E'er, Where Clover Whitens The Dead Man's Knoll, You Pass, And No Tall Flower To Meet You Starts In The Trefoiled Grass, Halt By The Headstone Shading The Heart You Have Not Stirred, And Say The Lad That Loved You Was One That Kept His Word.

This Is For All Ill-treated Fellows Unborn And Unbegot, For Them To Read When They're In Trouble And I Am Not.

In Every American There Is An Air Of Incorrigible Innocence, Which Seems To Conceal A Diabolical Cunning.

The Mortal Sickness Of A Mind Too Unhappy To Be Kind.